


All the time in the world

by kiafeles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Childhood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, What-If, minor OC character death, tags to be added as i think of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiafeles/pseuds/kiafeles
Summary: Ignis has held many labels throughout his life. Nephew. Advisor-to-be. Strategist. Friend. Brother.In the timeless darkness, however, all these labels fall to naught.In the darkness, he has nothing left to find but himself.





	1. looking back

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is the product of many emotional nights thinking about my son Ignis. Essentially, I wanted to explore his character a bit more than what the game offers, so hopefully I'll do him justice. I try to stick to canon where it's applicable but...well, if I stray from anything too terribly, I apologize.
> 
> Special thanks to Mya for being my confidant as I work this all out.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Today, Ignis is to meet the prince.

 

It’s his first time in the royal citadel, and its scale astounds him, metal and might reaching far above his tiny stature. The whole of Insomnia, in fact, is beautiful, and Ignis has yet to comprehend the winding streets of its center, the impressive metropolitan architecture, and the vibrant city aesthetic. It’s a new experience for him, one that he admits is equal parts frightening and exciting.

 

He grips his mother’s hand tightly, but refuses to shrink into her side, and she pulls him along inside, passing guards who bow with precision and respect.

 

She’s a diplomat of sorts, from one of Insomnia’s border territories. She’s here to arrange for Ignis’ new role as Noctis’ advisor, confidant, and young friend. Ignis still has trouble believing his position, and will admit that he doesn’t quite understand what his new role in life will demand of him, but his mother has been reassuring him that he will be perfectly fine.

 

“The King is an old friend of mine. And your uncle is one of his advisors,” she says, reassuring him as they make their way into the expansive edifice. Ignis thinks she might explain that connection in full when he grows older, but he’s content for now to let the adults do as they do, and to accept his position as it is presented to him.

 

To be the friend of a prince, he thinks, is an honor. He mustn’t ruin it.

 

In the royal throne room, Ignis meets the King in person for the first time, and he is surprised at how...real he seems. He’s only seen pictures and video, here and there, of the King at professional events or holidays, but the man seems so much more tangible in person. Instead of a god, unshakable and statuesque, the King seems fleshy and warm. He greets Ignis with the same courtesy as Ignis’ mother, and the two make small chit chat of things that fly over Ignis’ head before they finally guide Ignis to the prince’s bedroom.

 

“We’ll leave you two to meet and greet,” Regis says, amusement sparkling in his eyes, before he takes Ignis’ mother by the arm, and they walk down the hall, trailed by a couple crownguard. One stays behind, a tall man with short brown hair and a bored expression, but he remains stationed at the door, and nods once for Ignis to enter the prince’s chambers. The prince is sitting on his bed, and Ignis has the same surprised reaction as with Regis. 

 

Noctis Lucis Caelum could be any boy that Ignis sees on the streets, were the context of their positions drastically different. He’s never even seen Noctis before today—the prince’s public appearances have been sparse to nonexistent since his birth—but despite this definite humanity, Ignis thinks he could fit the part, given time.

 

The prince in question looks up from his position, and Ignis wonders what exactly he had been doing, simply sitting there. The prince remains silent, staring at Ignis, and Ignis shuffles a bit to take a few steps closer.

 

“Hello, your highness,” Ignis says politely, bowing halfway to the floor. In instances like this, Ignis likes to imagine himself as a little adult. In his mind, he is seven feet tall, strong and unflappable, a protector of prince and people. In real life, he is small and powerless, but these fantasies give him courage to remain calm in situations such as this. 

 

“Who are you?” says Noctis. His curiosity, sincere and open, is evident in the slight tip of his head.

 

“Ignis Scientia. Your…” What is he, to Noctis? What is his official position now? He dithers, before finally saying, “your advisor-to-be.”

 

Noctis blinks twice, before taking in a sharp breath. “Oh. Yeah. My dad told me about you.”

 

“I am to help you with anything you need.”

 

Noctis scoots off the bed and walks over to Ignis, that same curious expression on his face, before tilting his head.

 

“Why’s your voice like that?”

 

“My voice? It’s because...” Ignis is aware that his accent is distinct from the prince’s, that it matches his family’s home territory along the northeast border of Insomnia. But he has never considered his manner of speaking strange, and worries that this might somehow divide the prince from him. He hurries to come up with something to say, something to placate the prince’s inquiring response, but the prince speaks over him.

 

“You sound different. Like some of the people on the council. Formal,” Noctis decides, before making a full 180 and marching to the door.

 

“Ah, your highness, where are you going?” Ignis picks at the buttons on his shirt cuffs nervously.

 

“To the gardens. You should come too.”

 

“Me?” Ignis says quietly, before rushing to amend. “I’m not really supposed to…”

 

“You’re gonna be my advisor one day, right?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“Then you should know all of the castle, shouldn’t you?” 

 

Noctis’ logic makes sense to Ignis, but he still struggles to decide, torn between his instructions and the situation presented to him.

 

“I...suppose I should. But my mother is returning soon with my uncle, and she might need me.”

 

The prince pads right back up to him and stares, his eyes glowing with warm encouragement.

 

“It’s okay! We’ll be back before they know it. They won’t even miss us.”

 

Ignis hesitates again, so Noctis grabs onto Ignis’ hand and pulls.

 

“Come on,” the prince urges. “It’ll be fun.”

 

Ignis swallows his apprehension and slowly, tentatively, a smile emerges on his face. The rest of the castle hears the giggling of the two small, mischievous boys as they sneak off into the gardens, but no one remarks on it. As Ignis follows Noctis through this foreign environment, he finds himself relaxing.

  
Soon enough, Ignis forgets about everything except the sound of their laughter.


	2. the first of the fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit that I’ve never been quite clear on their ages during the events in Noct’s childhood, so I’ll keep them vague for the most part.

Ignis and Noctis meet on and off for the next few years. Ignis spends half his time at the citadel and the other half finishing school at home, but his determination and intelligence allow him to pass through the levels faster than the other children around him. His teachers brag about his stellar performance, and soon enough he’s spending more and more time in Insomnia’s center, hours spent learning practical skills of diplomacy, rather than the studies of other children his age. The adults attempt to tone down the content that reaches the boy’s ears, for the most part trying not to spill details of the greater effects of Lucis’ war with Niflheim, but Ignis sucks up anything and everything he can.

 

His uncle finally decides that Ignis should simply live at the palace, so when he finishes a year of studies early, he does just that. The castle attendants spruce up one of the unused rooms down the hall from the prince’s bedroom, and Ignis soon finds himself seeing the prince regularly. At this age, Ignis still has enough time and enough of a youthful sense of a freedom to play with Noctis, who seems less keen on focusing on his studies than Ignis is.

 

The King has allowed Ignis to enroll in public school, a decision that confuses Ignis, considering the prince must still study those skills required for princely duties at home in the citadel with his tutors. Ignis supposes it is good, that the prince is raised alongside the people he will one day rule, but it still feels somehow reversed in a way, that Ignis should remain in the castle while Noctis leaves it. He comes along on the car rides to and from Noctis’ school building, but he never ventures inside it, and Noctis hardly mentions what occurs within, aside from a few bland anecdotes or passing remarks on homework assignments. He never seems to mention any friends, and Ignis subconsciously wonders if Noctis is missing out on something vital in his educational experience.

 

When Noctis is at home, however, are the best times.

 

Ignis meets Gladiolus Amicitia when Noctis is at school one day, a few weeks after his uncle brings him to the citadel, and the taller boy gives Ignis an appraising look, before rushing off to do his own share of duties. Nevertheless, Ignis sees similarities between himself and the future shield, even as their skills sets and personalities obviously differ. Gladiolus is a prodigy when it comes to combat and defense, whereas Ignis’ talents lie in words and numbers, strategy and analysis.

 

They’re fitting additions to the young prince’s growing circle of protectors and confidants, and they pass the time improving themselves for the daunting future to come.

 

For now, however, Ignis waits. Noctis is to return in a few days from some diplomatic mission in which he has accompanied his father, and Ignis eagerly prepares for their arrival. The palace tutors, who have taken up the harrowing task of continuing Ignis’ excelling education in Insomnia, have been his only company, aside from Gladiolus and the few other children of council members or diplomats.

 

Ignis thoroughly enjoys his studies, enjoys having mostly free reign to wander among the rooms of the palace, to investigate the ancient paintings and prophecies and pathways. But without Noctis, his day to day life is decidedly more...lackluster.

 

He doesn’t realize the peace that this sense of boredom grants him until the dreadful news arrives.

 

“The prince has been attacked!”

 

“Attacked? How?”

 

“Niflheim jumped them, with a Marilith it seems.”

 

“The gall! To attempt an assassination on the prince, on a diplomatic venture no less!”

 

Ignis hurries to find his uncle after hearing his fair share of worried comments, and succeeds in tracking him to the council room, but is rushed out almost immediately. He spots his uncle briefly, whose face exudes an alarming pallor, but he has no luck in receiving any information apart from his eavesdropping of the house staff.

 

With renewed determination, Ignis sets out to find the only one who could simultaneously be in the loop _and_  willing to talk to him.

 

He finds Gladiolus in a training room, one that Ignis himself has increasingly frequented, as part of his physical training. But Gladio doesn’t seem to be running his customary drills; instead, he’s mercilessly attacking a wooden dummy.

 

Ignis knows that Gladiolus is not always a fan of his royal charge, and that much of his time is spent lamenting the prince’s carefree attitude, but even so, Ignis can see the anxiety in Gladiolus’ tight, jagged movements.

 

“It’s not the only attack,” Gladiolus greets him, swinging an enormous wooden sword around in sweaty, acerbic anger.

 

Ignis watches Gladiolus for a long time, listens to what he knows, and when the conversation runs quiet, he immediately turns and exits. The other boy does not follow.

 

Ignis ignores the chaos of those around him, making a beeline for not his bedroom, but Noctis’, locking the door behind him.

 

Silently, he approaches Noctis’ bed, climbs to the very same spot he had seen Noctis that first day, many months ago, and curls up over the sheets. He grips then in shaky hands and lets his tears, the tears of one less royal and less deserved than to reside in this room, fall on the sheets.

 

His mother and father, on equally important missions for Lucis, have perished in similar attacks by Niflheim soldiers as the one which so brutally injured Noctis today.

 

It is at this moment, with his face buried in Noctis’ sheets, surrounded by the only constant he can verify of the prince’s continuing existence, by the sights and smells of his prince, that Ignis learns how very small he is in the world.


	3. return

The next time Ignis sees the prince, he’s being rolled into the citadel in a wheelchair.

 

Ignis has heard of the attack, obviously, of the death of the Oracle, the loss of Tenebrae and its royal line to Niflheim forces, and the tragedy feels bitter. 

 

Familiar. 

 

Nevertheless, his prince is finally returned to him, and he approaches the younger boy with a barely constrained, desperate air. 

 

“Your highness!” he calls out, moving to take the handles of the chair from one of the prince’s attendants. “How...how are you faring?”

 

He pushes Noctis along for a few tense moments, flanked on either side by more attendants. Ignis examines the boy’s dark expression, the bandages on his arms, his labored breath, and he waits patiently for a reply.

 

“I’m fine,” the boy says, no sign of his previous exuberance in his tone, and Ignis feels dread wrap around him like a vice grip.

 

On that day, as he wheels the quiet prince to his room, Ignis vows never to let Noctis see harm. He will see to it that this boy becomes a king.

 

+

 

A few weeks pass, and Noctis makes some attempts at walking longer distances, such as to the kitchen or throne room, on his own. He winces and breathes heavily at the efforts, and on one such day, while he leaves for the bathroom, he stumbles. Ignis, devotedly at his side nearly every second since Noctis’ return, reaches to prevent his fall.

 

“I don’t need your help,” Noctis bites. His harsh comment disturbs the tense silence that has been floating around them the past few weeks, and Ignis recoils. His hand still rests on the prince’s other side, and he helps the prince rise, but as soon as Ignis retrieves the chair and Noctis is seated once more, Ignis retreats.

 

“I will be a short call away, should you need me.”

 

Noctis’ eyes are dark with some indistinct emotion, but he seems to ignore Ignis’ statement, even though he’s obviously heard it.

 

Ignis decides to return in a few hours, hoping his prince will be a bit more eager to converse after cooling down.

 

“What is that?” he asks that evening, when he spots Noctis curled up on the bed, clutching a pencil in one hand, lip jutting out in concentration and a notebook in his lap. Ignis has never seen the possession before, a fact that surprises him, because it looks fairly well used. It’s not that Noctis hates reading, per se, but to seek it out himself surprises Ignis, who has thus far failed to inspire any sort of interest in reading, casual or otherwise, in the younger boy. 

 

This doesn’t seem like casual reading material, however, as Noctis hovers over it with the same  protective instinct of a mother bear overseeing her cubs.

 

“It’s Luna’s,” he finally says, explaining their long distant contact and the many, many notes the two have passed since Tenebrae entered Niflheim occupation.

 

“He’s magic,” Noctis remarks, when Umbra, a small grey puppy and the source of the continued contact, mysteriously appears in the citadel a few hours later.

 

“He must be,” Ignis agrees. He stares at the dog with curiosity and a sort of detached reverence, and the dog pants and stares back with an almost humanlike intelligence. It’s frightening, and Ignis represses a shiver. In the instant it takes for Ignis to blink and shake his head, the dog has sprung up onto bed, licking Noctis’ hands and face. The prince giggles and attempts to combat the slobbery attack, but his defence is wide and open, and Ignis himself chuckles at the display, any previous concern washed away at the sight of the happy boy in front of him.

 

“I don’t believe the maid would appreciate cleaning dog hair off the duvet,” Ignis says, voice tinged with humor.

 

Noctis sticks his tongue out at the other boy, and at Umbra’s increasingly fevered behavior, abandons attaching the notebook to the dog’s side, in favor of letting the dog behave as he wishes. 

 

“Come on,” Noctis laughs, waving at Ignis, and the older boy slowly, hesitantly, reaches forward to climb on the bed and join in the fun. For the first time since his return, Noctis seems happy, and Ignis is loath to do anything that may threaten it.

 

Ever since his return to Insomnia, Ignis has noticed it. The reserved way Noctis holds himself, the reluctance to speak up, the tense glances and nightmares and attempts at closing himself off. In this moment, however, Noctis’ eyes are two bright blue orbs, like moons, framed by a wide smile and only partially obscured behind wispy, dark bangs.

 

“There was also this creature,” Noctis murmurs suddenly, and Ignis snaps to attention. “A carbuncle, it said…”

 

Noctis pulls out a small figurine, hidden beneath his pillow, and hands it to Ignis. Noctis describes his time in the coma, the vivid, seemingly prophetic content of his dreamscape, and Ignis listens, enraptured. He tells Ignis of a dessert he ate in Tenebrae with Luna, of sylleblossoms blowing in the breeze and waterfalls and floating rocks and flora, greener than Noctis has ever seen before. He tells Ignis of treasured moments, of people from Tenebrae and sights and sensations and happy times.

 

Noctis has changed, that much is sure, and Ignis has become weary. But in moments like this, Ignis feels as if he can truly see what Noctis is describing. In this time, exclusively theirs, nothing seems very different after all.


	4. an understanding

The prince has been sulking more than usual as of late, and as Ignis watches him leave the council room, sullen and silent for the third time this week, he determines to do something about Regis’ wayward son.

 

“Your highness,” he calls, once the pair have reached Noctis’ room. The prince lets out a long, impatient sigh, and turns halfway to face his advisor. 

 

“Is everything all right?” Ignis says, somewhat wary of the prince’s response.

 

“Yeah,” the prince purses his lips, avoiding Ignis’ eyes. “Just peachy.”

 

“It doesn’t appear that way,” Ignis continues, crossing his arms. Noctis’ rotten mood is nothing new, simply representing a cynicism that’s sprung up more frequently in the boy in recent years, but Ignis attempts to dismiss his own disgruntlement. “You haven’t been paying much attention to your studies _or_  your princely duties, have you?”

 

“Stop nagging me,” Noctis groans. “I’m doing just fine and you know it.”

 

“Then would it be that difficult for you to demonstrate some enthusiasm?” Ignis says, words carefully precise. “It isn’t often that you have the time or ability to partake in council meetings, but they are of great import.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” Noctis begins to put his materials away, shoving notebooks in random drawers and clothes under his bed. Ignis knows that Noctis has the maid service to clean up after any glaring messes, but it’s still a bit troubling how little he seems to care for his own living space.

 

“Is it something else, then?” Ignis tries, his voice dropping low in hopes of reaching some sort of understanding. Is there something else, something he has failed to notice, occurring? Something that the prince has been unwilling to talk of due to trepidation or simple nerves? Ignis loathes the idea that he’s missed something crucial, but if Noctis’ behavior is anything to go by, he surmises that he must have failed in some regard.

 

Noctis finishes his imitation of cleaning, stops a moment to catch his breath, and finally speaks.

 

“I want to move out.”

 

Ignis blinks, digesting the information. 

 

“Out of the citadel?”

 

“I want to get an apartment. I just can’t…” He waves a hand around, gesturing vaguely. “I feel trapped. I only ever go to school to stay in class, and then I’m right back here.”

 

Ignis considers the implications. It would make sense for the prince to live amid the environment of which he will one day rule, and yet, Ignis’ wonders what might make the prince so adamant to avoid his current conditions. He surmises the King sent Noctis to public school as a way of acclimating him to the wills of the people, but even then, for the prince to live among them? 

 

Noctis has hardly turned sixteen, and while he’s spent more time outside the citadel than is expected of his royal status, he’s shown no interest in acquainting himself with his people more than is strictly necessary.

 

Ignis tries to quell the spark of jealous irritation deep within him. Noctis wishes so hard to leave his roots, just as Ignis wishes he could so easily repair them. The weight of a crown prince is heavy—Ignis cannot delude himself of that fact. And yet, in the moment it takes him to contemplate Noctis’ suggestion, he struggles to divert the vitriol from its resting place on his tongue. The idea of Noctis willingly leaving the place of his birth, with the supposed intent of distancing himself from his only living family, lies heavy in Ignis’ thoughts.

 

“Are you sure you’d be willing to take up that responsibility?” he says finally, and Noctis lets out a small noise of surprise.

 

“Of course. I’ve actually been looking into some places. I found a few near the school. Prompto and I have been checking them out together, actually.”

 

Ah, so that is where the prince has been spending his time, those nights when he comes back to the citadel too many hours after sunset. Ignis has always assumed Noctis spends the time at the arcade with friends or simply skips his training, but he hasn’t once considered that Noctis might be using it with such specific intentions.

 

“Prompto?” he asks instead. 

 

“Uh, yeah. A friend,” Noctis says tersely, and Ignis makes a mental note to investigate the student at a later time. The name sounds somewhat familiar, and it’s a good indication that Noctis is actually taking advantage of the experiences his public education has to offer, but it’s a bit worrisome that he has yet to mention any of his other peers. 

 

Noctis remains silent after that, as if waiting for Ignis to voice his opinion. After another moment of consideration, Ignis can’t help but view the request ambivalently. If Noctis is so keen on charting his own path, then who is to stop him? Nevertheless, the request would require the King’s approval, a hurdle that while not insurmountable, can prove a challenge.

 

“If you’re so keen on leaving, then,” Ignis says, finally, “I suggest discussing it with your father.”

 

“My father?” Noct sounds incredulous. “Why, like I have to ask permission?”

 

“You would need to find some way of maintaining your responsibilities from afar. A way to reassure His Majesty that the distance wouldn’t prove a risk to your security or your responsibilities.”

 

Noctis uses that moment to march straight past Ignis and into the hallway, forcing Ignis to catch up to him to continue the conversation.

 

“It should...be fine,” Noctis replies, and then a touch bitterly, adds, “if I could even get five minutes alone to ask him.”

 

Ignis starts, feeling as though he should slap himself for his own incompetence. The King of Lucis has much that rests on his shoulders, so much so that he hardly has time left to spend as a father. Ignis has seen the affects, understands the causes and Noctis’ own anger in regards to the subject, but has never brought up the issue himself. He thinks now that he really should have, considering Noctis’ reluctance to do it himself, beyond that of the occasional sour comment.

 

Ignis wishes that Noctis would confide in him more, but he doubts Noctis will ever hold that deep a level of personal trust in him, regardless of their future stations. 

 

Ignis simply wishes to understand Noctis. Perhaps, at one point in time, it would have been achievable, but now…

 

“I’m not quite sure that moving out would be the best course of action,” he begins, watching as Noctis folds in on himself. He hurries to continue, before Noctis shuts him out completely.

 

“Nevertheless, as a citizen of the crown city, I think the experience might be beneficial. Should you prove that you are capable of handling whatever may come of it.”

 

Noctis finally meets his eyes, equal parts hopeful and wary, and Ignis delivers the coup de grace.

 

“I’ll set up some time for you to meet with your father. I cannot guarantee that it will be a particularly lengthy visit, however, so come prepared with your best pitch.”

 

Noctis laughs, the tension ebbing from his body, and shakes his head. Ignis notices how his hair, recently cut but growing back into its typical wispy tendrils, settle down to frame his face. It is a face that looks much better smiling genuinely, as little as that happens nowadays.

 

“Thanks, Specs.”

  
  


With the advent of Noctis’ jovial tone, Ignis finally allows himself to relax. Details can be dealt with later.

 

“Of course, your highness.”

 

“Noct.”

 

“Hmm?” Ignis has taken to shortening the other boy’s name out of convenience, and it seems the boy has noticed.

 

“I like it better when you call me Noct.”

 

Ignis likes it too, he thinks. It’s signifies something closer, something more personal, when he uses the nickname. It feels simply...right on his tongue, symbolizes the level of understanding which he so desperately desires, and so he nods in agreement.

 

Noct raises an eyebrow, and Ignis sighs.

 

“All right then, Noct.”

  
  


+

 

The place that Noctis finally picks out is adequately spacious and in a nice location, halfway between his school and the citadel. Around the same time as he moves into the apartment, the prince takes up a job as a part time cook, as means of supplementing the funds his father provides him to pay for the living space. When Noctis tells Ignis of his new profession, he can’t help but laugh. One, because he can imagine the faces of the restaurant owners when they discovered they would be employing the king-to-be of Lucis, and two, because he finds it the greatest bit endearing that Noctis will be cooking food himself, for once.

 

Ignis had only started participating in the culinary arts a few months after Noctis’ return from Tenebrae, when they boy had finally begun to open up about his experiences there. Ignis is definitely not a seasoned chef, but he has improved steadily. Plus, he enjoys seeing Noctis smile at the small kindness, and it’s quite relaxing on days when Ignis simply wants to pull his hair out of stress.

 

In regards to the apartment, Ignis helps Noctis move in, but it quickly becomes apparent that without maids or round-the-clock supervision, the prince evolves into a slob. 

 

After the King’s approval, Ignis promised that he wouldn’t be there to wait on Noctis hand and foot, but he’s finding his own resolve crumbling in the face of such blatant disregard for common decency.

 

Ignis has refrained from telling Noctis’ father of the finer details of his son’s living conditions, but Ignis’ mounting irritation makes it difficult to convince himself that Noct has shown he’s earned his independence.

 

Ignis knows it’s in him, that Noctis is more than capable, but it doesn’t keep him from accosting the prince whenever he comes home from school.

 

Like every day, it seems, Noctis simply waves him off.

 

“You’re no fun anymore,” he says, half serious.

 

Ignis falls into routine, grits his teeth, stands his ground for a moment, and then acquiesces like the defeatist he knows he is.

 

“There is a time and place for fun, and there is a time and place to be serious.”

 

“Who said I have to be serious when I clean?”

 

Ignis levels him a stare.

 

Noctis purses his lips.

 

“Fine,” Noctis says, and leaves it at that.


End file.
